This Sickness Called Love
by Feilyn
Summary: Ukitake would not burden any woman with his love. Expecially not this woman; Kurotsuchi Nemu, fragile and confused and disturbingly frank in the most innocent of ways. Ukitake/Nemu, Happy Birthday Namimakura!


_All right! This total crack pairing is a present for the one, the only, the totally amazing Namimakura! Happy birthday, babe, and I certainly hope this is everything you wanted!_

xXx

Ukitake Jyuushirō has never had any particular attachment to the Twelfth Division, especially after Kisuke left, which is why he is more than a little surprised to see Kurotsuchi Nemu standing quietly in his doorframe, hands folded neatly in front of her and eyes downcast. It's three months after the Winter War (which lasted considerably longer than just one winter), and things have only just started to return to a semblance of normality. Normality does not usually include the daughter of the late Kurotsuchi Mayuri asking to see him.

"Kurotsuchi-fukutaichō to see you, sir," his own vice-captain informs him. Kuchiki Rukia has settled well into the role of second-in-command, carrying a quiet confidence now that she hadn't had before the War.

People are saying now that the War changed everything, but Jyuushirō has two thousand years behind him and knows that if not for the War, something else would have changed. Life does not stagnate in one place, no matter much people might wish it to.

"I see," he replies, even though he doesn't. Rukia withdraws with a bow and Kurotsuchi takes a step forward, allowing the door to slide shut behind her. "What is it, fukutaichō?" he asks gently. This one has been changed more than most.

Her head lifts slowly and Jyuushirō is shocked to see tear tracks drying on her face. He blinks once before his mind neatly reorganizes itself to fit these new circumstances. Setting aside the paperwork he'd been working on, he folds his hands and gives the girl his undivided attention. "Sit," he offers.

She looks at the chair suspiciously. "Will I malfunction further?"

He thinks about the best way to go about this. "Tears are not a malfunction," he says finally, wondering what exactly it was that he was ignoring when he thought the way Kurotsuchi Mayuri treated his daughter was none of his business.

"What are these...tears you speak of?"

Jyuushirō strangles a brief surge of rage directed at Mayuri, knowing it won't add anything to the conversation at all. His own rage at himself, however, he allows to sit and morph into guilt as he taps his cheek and watches understanding light in her eyes.

"The malfunctioning? This is tears?"

He is struck with an idea. "It is probably best if you take that seat, Kurotsuchi-fukutaichō."

xXx

It is a hot summer's day and Jyuushirō moves his office outside to make the most of it. With his health having taken a turn for the better after the War (he's not certain why and neither is Retsu), he's been spending as much time out of doors as possible.

Sentarō is chasing Kiyone around with a bunch of flowers, the latest in a long series of ploys to get the other third seat to fall in love with him. Or even go out to dinner with him. The theory is sound, but it appears Sentarō isn't all that skilled at putting his plans into practice. To be fair though, Kiyone _had_ started yelling insults first.

"More popcorn, taichō?" Rukia offers.

Jyuushirō struggles to decline, laughing as he is. In the courtyard, Kiyone turns and shoves Sentarō into the pond, yelling something about spending some time with his kin. Jyuushirō assumes she's talking about the fish and chuckles as Sentarō drags himself out of the water only to be pushed back in again. Wiping the corners of his eyes, he fails to notice Kurotsuchi standing silently behind him.

"You are malfunctioning, Ukitake-taichō?"

He blinks, surprised both that he hadn't sensed her reiatsu before now and that he had forgotten inviting her to spend the afternoon at his Division.

"Kurotsuchi-fukutaichō," he says pleasantly, turning away from where Kiyone is hitting Sentarō over the head with the bouquet. "Take a seat."

She remains standing, a frown marring what Jyuushirō has just noticed is quite a pretty face. "Are you malfunctioning?" she persists. "It seems strange to say, but you are not a man I would like to malfunction."

He smiles at her, moving his pile of paperwork and patting the empty space next to him. "I am fine, fukutaichō. Please. Sit and enjoy the afternoon."

Kiyone has pinned Sentarō to the ground and is systematically shoving flowers down his throat, but instead of watching the show Rukia turns herself and her popcorn to Jyuushirō and Kurotsuchi as he attempts to explain tears of happiness.

xXx

From then on, it's not strange to find Kurotsuchi Nemu sitting in Thirteenth's courtyard, debating softly with Jyuushirō about emotions or simply talking about life (or death, as it were).

"I am no longer a fukutaichō," she says one day, leaning back on her hands and looking up at the sky.

Inadvertently, Jyuushirō's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. She has spoken about leaving her job once or twice before, but _he_ has assumed that they were just throw-away comments, born out of her frustration with the irrepressible Urahara Kisuke who is now once again Captain of the Twelfth Division.

"Why?" he asks carefully.

She is silent for a long time, but he knows she heard him.

"I need to learn how to live without my father," she says finally. It's only in the past few weeks that she has started referring to Kurotsuchi as her father instead of 'Mayuri-sama'. "I cannot do that with Urahara-taichō wanting me to be shut up with him in one lab or another most of the time. I am content to live quietly off my war pension in the general housing district for now." She's still looking up at the sky as if she has never seen it before and Jyuushirō is struck with the thought that she really is quite beautiful.

"Do you have any plans?" He looks at the patch of sky she's staring at, wondering what about it has grabbed her attention.

"I think I would like to learn to heal." She pauses. "I know many ways to take a person apart. It would be nice to know how to put them back together, I think."

Jyuushirō thinks about that as they watch the sky. "I'm sure Unohana-taichō would be willing to do a favour for me, if I was to ask."

They both tear their eyes away from the empty blue to look at each other, Nemu's eyes cautiously optimistic. She confessed the other day that she is still not used to this 'happy' feeling and approaches it with extreme suspicion. "You would...?"

"Retsu has not taken an apprentice in decades. I'm sure she would be delighted to take you under her wing."

The woman flushes prettily, and then smiles at him.

It's a small thing, nowhere near as impressive as Matsumoto Rangiku's coy smirks or Kiyone's wide grins. Nonetheless, the tiny quirk of her lips hits him like a punch to the gut and he finds himself quite breathless.

"Thank you, Ukitake-taichō."

"Please. We are friends, aren't we? Call me Jyuushirō." The words spill out of his mouth before he can think to stop them, and it takes a moment to realise that he doesn't particularly want to.

She blushes further and Jyuushirō finds he must look away, a lump rising in his throat.

He can kid himself and say nothing is happening, but he's already been doing that for weeks. Jyuushirō is exceptionally good at hiding things from himself, but that smile has broken his resolve. There is something about this woman that draws him to her – her frank nature, perhaps, or her warped innocence. It's indescribable.

_All this from one smile? I must be going senile. _

"Then you must call me Nemu, J-Jyuushirō." The stutter is almost imperceptible, but he notices. A month ago, she would not have stuttered; a month ago, she would not have realised the significance of the exchange.

He summons a smile of his own, although he's sure it pales in comparison to her own. "I think you would make a wonderful healer, Nemu." He wants that smile on her face again, not only because it is lovely to look at, but because he wants to make her happy. She does smile again, turning her face to the sky once more and the effect on Jyuushirō is ridiculous. Slowly, it dawns on him that he is in serious trouble.

"I feel like the sky, Jyuushirō," she tells him, not looking away from the endless blue. "What would you name this feeling?"

It's something she's taken to asking him, the thing that most often sparks their friendly debates on emotion; what is it, exactly, that she feels? It's horrifying and wonderful at the same time – horrifying because no one, especially not this woman, deserves to be kept in ignorance of basic human emotions, and wonderful because Jyuushirō gets to teach them to her.

He stares back up at that patch of sky. "Freedom," he says eventually, because that is the only thing the sky had ever been able to remind him of.

xXx

Retsu laughs at him the moment he walks into her office. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised; the woman is like a sister to him and probably knows him better than even Shunsui. She certainly knows him better than he knows himself.

"Two thousand years and you've finally fallen in love, Jyuushirō," she teases, offering him a seat. "It's about time."

He takes the seat, a wry smile twisting his lips. "I suppose. It has happened before though."

"Yes. But I think it's terminal this time." She looks at him suspiciously, and he should have known better than to think he could hide his thoughts from her. "Oh, not this again."

"You can't expect me to—"

A gentle hand is laid on his shoulder and he experiences a brief flash of déjà vu. Except, this conversation _has_ happened before, many, many times which is probably why Retsu says what she does next. "I can't expect you to burden some poor woman with the love of a dying man, Jyuushirō?"

He sighs. "The fact that I have said it before, Retsu, doesn't make it any less true."

Her hand is spiked with healing kidō and she frowns, moving aside his hair, haori and the shoulder of his uniform so it can touch bare skin. "Your lungs are in better health than they have ever been, Jyuushirō."

"I would say the day before I contracted this disease they were in somewhat better shape."

The hand hits him lightly on the head and he smiles despite himself. "Don't be smart with me, Ukitake Jyuushirō. You know exactly what I mean. I think you'll find that you are no longer in the drawn out process of dying."

"It's getting faster?"

"I just _said_ you were practically healthy. You know, I may have to go and have a word with this girl. I thought being in love was meant to be sunshine and roses." Her eyes are twinkling; it's been centuries since he's been able to joke about his disease. "Who is it?"

His breath catches in his throat like it does all the times he thinks of _her._ Idly, he wonders how he got himself into this mess. "Kurotsuchi Nemu," he finally admits. "You didn't know?"

"Oh, I knew." Satisfied that he is going to live until his next check-up, she pulls out the other chair and sits down opposite him. "I was just wondering if you did."

xXx

Shunsui finds it funny as well, although that's less surprising. His old friend has always been able to find the humour in love which is odd, considering he thinks it a very serious subject.

"So which part of the inferiority complex will we be using this time, Jyuu-chan?" he askes from beneath his hat. "Retsu-chan has informed me that you're no longer dying, so I'm afraid you no longer have a burden to dump on poor Nemu."

"It hasn't _gone away_, Shunsui," Jyuushirō reminds the other man. "It's...retreated. Licking it's wounds, biding it's time before it can make another attack. "

"All the more reason for you to have allies, my friend. After the lungs it'll attack the heart, am I right?"

"There's not much point in hoping if my lungs fail entirely, Shunsui," Jyuushirō notes wryly. "Even a two-thousand year old taichō needs to breathe." He thinks about that. "Especially a two-thousand year old taichō."

"Well, yes. But still, there's no harm in having a final defence around your heart. Something to protect and look after it, so to speak." Shunsui has plunged headfirst into another metaphor and Jyuushirō knows there'll be no dragging him out if he's allowed to keep swimming.

The metaphors are contagious, he realises.

"Your point, which I'm sure you would have reached eventually, is still entirely redundant. Even if I were in perfect health, I am still too old, too jaded, too—"

Shunsui dismisses his objections with a wave of the hand. "Excuses, excuses. I've heard them all before, Jyuu-chan. You're so good at thinking of them, why don't you use that time to think of an excuse to _be_ in love?"

"I am content."

"Content is not happy, Jyuu-chan, and you know it. Content is a cowards way of saying he is too afraid to be happy."

"I have always been a coward, Shunsui, at the heart of things."

"Yes," Shunsui agrees without preamble. "Well, almost. You were not coward enough to let yourself die, at least, for which I will be eternally grateful. But you've hidden your fear of living behind your fear of dying, Jyuu-chan, and now the latter is not quite so pressing."

Jyuushirō can feel centuries-old battle plans crumbling in the face of Shunsui's well executed attack, but he still has one final defence.

"She does not love me. She cannot love me, because she does not know what love _is._"

Shunsui chuckles. "You don't need words to describe it, Jyuu-chan. You just need a heart to feel it."

Jyuushirō groans and wonders why, after two thousand years, no one has gotten around to telling Shunsui that the heart is simply a thumping lump of meat.

xXx

The next time he sees Nemu, she is frowning and he has to resist the urge to ask her what is wrong, who caused it, and how she wants that person murdered.

"I am malfunctioning again, I think."

"Oh?" It's the only thing he can manage to spit out coherently.

"Yes. I had wanted to identify this new sensation on my own, but there were so many various feelings that I couldn't sort them all out. I mentioned it to Rangiku-san when she came to visit, and she suggested I come and talk to you about it."

Matsumoto Rangiku never does anything without some ulterior motive. Granted, that ulterior motive is usually forcing happiness down people's throats, but Jyuushirō knows by now to be wary whenever her name comes up in a conversation where it shouldn't appear.

"Oh?" It's a comforting word – well, sound, really – this _oh_, so he says it again. It's certainly easier than coming up with something else to say.

She is still frowning and Jyuushirō wants desperately to know why.

She tells him.

"It does make a great deal of sense, seeing as these thoughts and feelings all seem to be centred on you. A shortness of breath, accelerated heartbeat upon sight. Difficulty commenting on the simplest subjects. An irritating fluttering in the stomach when my thoughts turn to you, and the horrifying feeling that if you were ever to disappear, I would want to disappear also." She turns a bemused gaze to him. "We have talked on many emotions, Jyuushirō, but I couldn't think of any that quite fitted this one."

His mouth is dry and his mind scrambles for some explanation – both for her and himself – as some disconnected part wonders exactly why their talks never did turn around to any form of love. And then he looks at her face and see's the glint in her eye and realises she _knows _what it is.

_You don't need words to describe it, Jyuu-chan. You just need a heart to feel it._

Sometimes he hates Shunsui.

"Have you ever felt anything of the sort, Jyuushirō?" she asks, and it sounds so innocent, probably _is_ so innocent. She doesn't realise the pain that comes with loving a man like him. She doesn't understand. She can't.

Nonetheless, he's never lied to her and he can't make himself do it now. "Yes," he admits, and at least it's a step up from _oh_.

"What is it called?"

"Love." His reply is choked and strangled and she catches on immediately. Eyes fly wide and he imagines that he can see her heart there as she stares at him. Thumping lump of meat indeed.

"Does this—" She cuts herself off and he knows, he _knows_ that she's about to test out the words. "I l—"

"Don't." This word is even more mangled than the last. "You don't what you're saying. You can't."

She's frowning again and something twists in his chest. The knife in his heart, perhaps.

"You say this feeling is called love."

Beyond words, he nods.

"I am feeling this feeling. For you. Does this not therefore mean that I love you?"

His pathetic resistance falls apart. His grip had been tenuous at best, those words from those lips with that frown has a result similar to someone stamping on his fingers.

He tumbles over the edge.

"Yes."

There's an oddness in the air, almost as if the air itself is holding its breath.

"And you have felt this feeling."

"Yes."

"For whom?"

He looks at the ground, unable to face her, unable to say this straight to her face. "You. You, Nemu."

Silence.

"Joy." Her voice breaks it, sounding full of wonder. "I feel...joy, Jyuushirō. Is this the correct feeling? I think...do you also feel this? I do not think a feeling such as this could be wrong."

He opens his mouth to refute it. He opens his mouth to say that it's wrong, she should not be feeling joy at the thought of loving him and that it would be better to leave now and save herself future heartbreak.

"It is not wrong." His voice is soft, quiet, and he finds a similar wonder creeping into it.

He cannot do it.

He cannot say to this woman, his love, that an emotion she is finding so much joy in is wrong. He cannot tell her that she will lose herself to him, that one day he will die and leave her alone and that loving him is quite possibly the stupidest thing she will ever do in her life.

He cannot _ruin_ this for her.

"It is not wrong," he says again, and finds his voice is stronger.

She looks at him and that smile is there again. It's small, a mere quirk of the lips, but encompassed in that smile is his whole world.

He gathers her in his arms and kisses her, and is more than surprised when she knows what to do.

xXx

From their vantage point behind a conveniently placed bush, Matsumoto Rangiku, Kyōraku Shunsui, Kuchiki Rukia and Unohana Retsu all cheer quietly and high-five. Next to them, Ise Nanao rolls her eyes and looks at the clipboard in her arms before placing a large tick next to the names 'Ukitake Jyuushirō' and 'Kurotsuchi Nemu'.

_Next up, Kuchika Byakuya and Matsumoto Rangiku._

xXx

_Lol. Yeah, Nanao was the mastermind. If you're familiar at all with The Stage, you'll remember that while everyone goes to Rangiku for love advice, Rangiku herself goes to Nanao..._

_I hope you all enjoyed this, especially you, Nam! Happy birthday! :throws candy and balloons and Bya-plushies:_


End file.
